Setting Lives Alight
by Haido Retreat
Summary: After the Dark Lord's fall, Harry finds himself fashioning the thought of beginning a normal life. But, like always, Fate had a way of meddling in peoples' affairs. A new figure is guiding the escaped Death Eaters and trouble is prone to spring up at every corner. Chaos is brewing in the wizarding Britain, and a revolution is about to be ignited. mainly HG; rating may change later
1. Prologue

A thick layer of fog had been draped over the surrounding grounds and the overbearing forest resting on them. The birds that happily chirped during the day were now nestled together in hopes of warming one another and lay asleep on the trees' branches. Despite the lack of wind, the weather was rather chilly. And in that moment, silence reigned over the immidiate surroundings. No sound was heard, no move was made, and no man was seen. Except, apparently, for one.

A lone figure was walking down the winding path that led to the forest. His features were hard to discern due to the mist, but that had been shortly rectified, for the fog was beginning to clear as he was nearing the entrance to the forest. There stood a young man, nearing his twenties, with unruly shoulder length jet-black hair and piercing green eyes, a pair of rounded glasses resting on them. He was wearing a cotton gray shirt, dusty, black trousers, a dark green oversized jacket and a pair of battered gray trainers. There were little cuts and bruises along his fingers and in the palms of his hands. He sported a split lip and his chin was developing the beginnings of a stubble. An old scar - almost as old as he was - rested on his forehead under the fringe of his untidy hair like an unpleasant memory. The boy, now turned man, looked around him uncertainly, as if he were treading unfamiliar territory. His eyes roamed over the path leading to the thick forest ahead. Hesitantly, he made a step forward, then cast a hasty look back at the shrouded grounds he'd come from, before starting to walk into the woods, unknowing of what may lay ahead.

The trees he passed by reminded him of loved ones, persons that, for some reason, he could not seem to remember. Whenever he neared one, he felt like they were whispering things. Not bad things, but it was as if they were talking about him. It made the boy uneasy, and occassionally he would look over his shoulder, and the feeling would suddenly stop. As if they knew he caught on, and tried to reassure him. After a while he decided there was no stopping it, so he shrugged it off. As he was wandering aimlessly through the forest, he came across a clearing. The fog was thicker there, but he could discern a shrouded figure sitting on a stone bench in the middle of the glade. He made his way toward the person, who now looked like an old man. It looked as if he was admiring the forest surrounding them.

"Such a beautiful place," the old man said, "don't you think?"

The young man looked around and upwards, taking the scenery in, then shrugged. "Rather quiet."

"Ah, yes..." the elder said fondly, "You see, Harry, silence is the most piercing sound in these woods." He looked towards the young man and paused. "You've come a long way, my boy," he scooted over on the bench and continued, "would you like a seat?"

The youth looked down at himself, taking in his battered look, then shook his head, "No, thank you. Though I do feel rather exhausted." In truth, Harry felt worse than that. His legs were as heavy as lead, he could barely keep his eyes open, and he felt like he hadn't eaten in weeks. This brought back memories of his childhood, but he couldn't quite envision them. They were blurry, like the old man engulfed in mist sitting on the bench. He looked at his injured hands and marveled at how he couldn't feel any pain. Instinctively, his hand shot up and rubbed his forehead. The gesture felt like an old habit he was trying to get rid of.

"Are you alright?" The old man had cocked his head to the side. His hands seemed busy stroking something on his lap. Harry couldn't tell what, exactly. Maybe if he got closer, he'd be able to tell what the old man was doing.

"Fine, sir," he responded, "For the moment I'm alright. Though I'm sure it'll all come crashing down on me once I -"

_'Once I what?'_

He frowned. Harry forgot what he wanted to say. What exactly _was_ going to happen? It stood on the tip of his tongue, but the moment he wanted to voice the thought, it was forgotten. He opened his mouth to say something, but the old man held up his hand to silence him.

"It's okay, Harry. Quite understandable really, what with all that's happened to you in my absence," he paused, "And even before that."

Harry nodded. Somehow, he understood what the man was saying, but he couldn't figure out what exactly they were talking about. With all that's happened... In his mind, he had an idea of what that was, but that was it. Just an idea; he couldn't shape it into a coherrent thought or articulate it in a sentence. First, he abruptly forgets things that should come to him naturally, and now this. It was confusing. He looked down at the ground and frowned, "Sir?" he started pacing around the glade, getting closer to the man, "This is The Forbidden Forest, isn't it?"

"It is," the man said. He fell silent for a short while and continued, "Though it is not the one you know."

Before Harry could ask _'how so?'_, the man went into details, "What you see right now is what you _think_ is The Forbidden Forest. In truth, this space morphs into what the person inhabitting it wishes to see, or sometimes takes form according to one's feelings." The man turned towards him, and Harry had a feeling he was smiling at him. He could imagine a blurry face whose features were wrinkled, framed by a grey mane and a long, silver beard.

"So basically," Harry said, deep in thought, "What I'm seeing reflects what I feel, and in reality, this place is like," he gesticulated wildly, "some kind of void?"

The old man's hands stopped whatever they were doing. Upon closer inspection, Harry realized that the man had been stroking a feather. Probably a bird's.

"Harry," he started, "Just because a place seems real, it does not mean that it is part of reality."

A long silence stretched between them. The man now seemed more familiar than ever, but Harry could simply not remember where he'd seen him. It also did not help the fact that they were on such familiar terms. Like they'd known each other for a relatively long time. Harry looked around and yet again took in the surroundings. The trees seemed taller than the last time he paid them any attention. It felt odd that there was no crack or crunch around them, no whistling winds, no fallen leaves, nothing. Just the chilly fog, engulfing everything. After what felt like an eternity, Harry decided to break the silence, "Sir, why are we here?"

"That's a curious thing you're asking me, Harry." The man started playing again with the feather; Harry could tell he wasn't looking at him.

"Okay, then, why _am I_ here?"

"You are here because you are lost, my boy."

_Lost?_ But Harry knew where he was. He was in The Forbidden Forest. Well, not the actual place, but he recognized where he was. He may not have known the forest like the inside of his pockets, but he knew enough of it to not get lost. He was sure he could find his way back to the entrance without difficulty. He gave the man a puzzled look. "Sir, I don't understand -"

"At the beginning of our conversation," the man interrupted, "you asked me whether or not this is The Forbidden Forest - which I confirmed to you that indeed, it is." He looked towards Harry, who could've sworn that for a second he saw the glint of a pair of half-moon spectacles shining through the mist. "You were uncertain, Mr. Potter. Do you know why?" Harry shook his head. He couldn't remember the last time someone called him that.

"You have no purpose." he said calmly.

The quietness enveloped them again like a blanket. Harry was struck by how deafening the silence surrounding them actually was. He swallowed and tried again, "I'm sorry sir, but I honestly do not understand."

"The events that transpired ever since I-" the man stopped, looking for a suitable word, and Harry imagined him frowning. "_left_," he continued, "and, especially, the last few days, were the only things that drove you." he paused. "And, in the wake of you achieving your goals, you were left with nothing. Think about it, Harry-" he held up the feather as if to better examine it, "You were so driven to set things right, that you never stopped to think what would you do after everything would be done."

"That's not true, Professor. I know what I'm going to do - I'll become an Auror."

"And," he lowered his hand, "do you honestly believe that will be a fullfilling life? I'm guessing a career, yes, but not a life. What I'm saying is, something that will make your days worthwhile."

Harry looked at him quizically.

"Friends, Harry," he resumed stroking the feather, "Friends. And above all else... family."

_Friends and... family._ The thought echoed in his mind. Blurry images started coursing rapidly through his head. Images of people close to him, and Harry knew that he'd be able to recognize all of them, if only he could get a better glimpse of them. The old man was now in a standing position, and - finally - Harry could discern the man's features without problem. The mist was clearing, and the old man's robes came into view. They were the color of wine and hung loosely around him. The feather was still plucked between his fingers and Harry recognized the feather as a phoenix's.

"I'm sure you must have many questions, Harry, but unfortunately, I must be going now."

Before he could think things through though, Harry sprung into action.

"Wait!" he shouted, "Professor, at the beginning of our conversation - when you told me about this place - you said... you said 'the person inhabitting it'." he paused. "That would be me, so..." he looked up at the man, "What are you, actually?"

The old man beamed at him. "Why, Harry," his features crinkled as his smile broadened, "I thought it was obvious. Since you are lost, I can't just stand by and leave you wandering around here forever now, can I?" he gestured with open arms around the mesmerizingly silent glade to emphasize his point.

"I am your _guide_, Harry." he finished.

Another unnatural silence settled between them - the longest one yet, Harry noted. The old man, who Harry now recognized as his former headmaster and mentor was positively beaming at him.

"I believe there was another thing you wanted to ask me?" he said, as if encouraging Harry.

"Yes, sir." The situation oddly felt like dèja vu to Harry. "Is this really happening, or have I just been dreaming all this time?"

Dumbledore's smile brightened even more, if it was possible. He turned towards another path out of the clearing that was unobstructed by the fog, and started strolling towards it at a slow and even pace.

"Of course you're dreaming, Harry," Dumbledore said over his shoulder, his voice much more louder and brighter now, "but why on earth should that mean that this is not really happening?"

And then he vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving in his wake only the phoeninx feather he was stroking earlier. Harry rushed over and picked it up.

"Must be Fawkes'," he murmured drowsilly.

He looked around him again, and this time he could hear the sounds of the forest. The lazy swishing of the wind, the rustling of the leaves, and the swaying branches of the trees. He could hear everything now, and only the thought of it sent warmth coursing through him. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the sounds, letting them envelop him. Out of all, the loudest were the whispers of the trees he heard earlier. He didn't feel nervous about them anymore. He welcomed them, as he welcomed the sleepiness and exhaustion that washed over him. And then, he blacked out.


	2. A Semblance Of Normalcy

_**A/N:**_ Hey, people! Haido Retreat here, bringing you another chapter of _Setting Lives Alight_. Since I didn't make a proper introduction in the _prologue_, I figured why not do it here? So there you have it. *shakes hands*

Readers! Feel free to ask whatever you want, though I'd really appreciate not being rude about it (_please note that there's a difference between rudeness and criticizing_).

I'll be solely focusing on this project from now on, even though there were some other projects I would have liked to start. All in due time, though.

* * *

Harry woke up with a sharp intake of breath. For a moment he sat motionless in bed, not daring to inhale air, in case he missed something. Had the dream been real? Bits of it started swimming inside his mind. He felt the creeping cold from the forest down his spine. Checking his hands, he noted that those too were cold. He swallowed. So the dream _did_ hold a semblance of truth. Shaking his head, he let his eyes roam over the surroundings.

At first he thought his vision was clouded due to the abrupt wake-up, but after rubbing his eyes, he realized his glasses were missing. Harry raised himself in a sitting position, making his muscles groan in protest, and started groping for his glasses on the nightstand. After a few short seconds he retrieved them and put them on. His vision cleared instantly, like a dirty shop window being cleaned.

"Better," he murmured.

For a second, he was surprised by the sight that greeted him, having momentarily forgotten where he was. There were four other beds in the room, all of them with fiery-red and golden drapes hanging lazily around them. A huge pile of objects lay on the floor in the middle of the room. To his right, Harry could see an array of books stacked on another nightstand near the one next to his bed. There were bits of rubble on the ground, a couple of scratches on the walls here and there, and a thin layer of dust on most of the books - all signs that even this part of the castle had suffered from the chaos that raged outside not even a day before. The room was a total mess, but he was overcome by a wave of nostalgia - all the memories he shared with his other dorm-mates came back unbidden. He remembered the many nights he spent here with Neville, Dean, Seamus and Ron.

_Ron._

How could he ever forget his best mate? His supposed partner-in-crime, who stuck with him through thick and thin, be it facing three-headed, mouth-frothing canines, enormous arachnids, Dementors, thrashing trees, dragons, Gringotts break-ins and even Potions essays. He was his very first friend and despite his thick-headed nature and obliviousness, Harry wouldn't have wanted anyone else as a best friend. Even if others mostly saw the flaws in him, Harry would first notice Ron's loyalty towards his friends, and his honesty, and sometimes, the bit of bravery that would come to the surface. Thinking of his friend made a smile form on his face. Despite all that's happened the day before, he wanted to have positive thoughts for a short moment. There would be enough time for mourning a little later.

He turned around and saw a change of clothes on the nightstand. Atop the clothes was a plate with a ham sandwich and a note attached to it. He must have missed those when he searched for his discarded glasses. Harry set the plate on his lap and began reading the messy writing scrawled on the note.

_Master Harry,_

_Kreacher has brought you a clean change of clothes from Master's home. Kreacher wanted to cook for Master too, but when Kreacher arrived, Master was sleeping and Kreacher didn't want to disrupt Master's slumber. So Kreacher left Master Harry something to eat. Kreacher knows it is not much, but he hopes it will be enough for Master until he goes down to eat._

_ Your loyal servant, Kreacher_

Harry chuckled lightly at the house-elf's antics. He started eating and made a mental note to thank Kreacher next time he saw him.

Not a second later, and the door (previously blocked by an assortment of objects) burst open. A tall, lanky redhead unceremoniously stumbled in, cursing at the heap on the floor. Harry stared as the boy brushed his clothes free of dust. Not even dirt could hide the freckles splayed on his cheeks - courtesy of his family lineage. After a moment, Ron looked up, eyebrows raised. "Oh. You're awake," he said.

For a while, an awkward silence passed between them. In that time, they each studied one another's battered appearances. The cuts and bruises littered on their faces, the dirt smudged across every inch of clothing and the circles underneath both pairs of eyes - circles the size of a building site.

The moment was shattered when Ron snorted and Harry joined him, starting to chuckle.

"Good to see you alive and kicking, mate," the redhead said, smiling slightly. "Need patching? Because, no offense, you look like a train-wreck."

"I'm fine," Harry assured him. He wanted to ask _How are the others?_, but stopped himself when he realized how stupid that question might sound. Instead, he asked, "Where are the others?" for good measure.

Ron's face paled a little. His bright mood dissipated in less than a moment. "Well," he started, his voice glum, "Hermione's gone to the girls' dormitory. Said she'd sleep a couple hours. Neville and the others are back in the Hall, helping with things. Mum and Dad are there too. And Percy, and George. You know..." his voice faltered.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I understand."

Of course he understood. It was hard losing someone you knew, someone you loved - someone so close to you. The closest person he'd lost was Sirius - his godfather and his only blood relative, and at the time it felt horrible. Now, with all the people who have died the night before, it felt more raw. It felt unreal. As if it hadn't yet registered with him that they weren't coming back. But Harry knew the full realization would hit him soon enough.

Ron shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Yeah, well... I just came to get some things," he said and went about his business. Harry nodded absentmindedly. He thought again about the dream he had. What could it have meant? Was it an omen? He mentally shook his head. Surely it couldn't have been. He wondered whether it was triggered by the brief meeting he had with Dumbledore when he'd been struck with the Avada Kedavra the other day. Was that a dream too? He frowned. No, that was different. He only hoped it wasn't something serious. Last thing he needed was becoming roommates with Gilderoy Lockhart at St. Mungo's for an undetermined amount of time.

"Aren't you hungry?" Ron asked whilst rummaging through what Harry supposed was Dean's trunk.

"A little, yeah," he lied. In truth, he was pretty hungry. Kreacher's snack was only worth tooth-picking. He hoped the redhead wouldn't catch on to it.

"A little!?" Ron exclaimed, unbelieving. "Mate, you've been out for almost half a day. The last time you ate something, it was a crust of bread-"

"And cheese," Harry interrupted defensively.

"-and Merlin knows whether you remember when was the last time you had a decent meal!" Ron finished, somewhat amused. It seemed as if he couldn't decide whether he should scold or laugh at his best mate. The sight before him slightly reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley, though he'd never let Ron know that.

"I think there was some ham too," Harry supplied, unable to hide his grin. "And wine."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered amused as he shook his head. He got up to leave but stopped abruptly.

Harry raised his brow. "What's wrong?" he inquired worriedly.

The redhead frowned. "It's probably nothing," he muttered, "But..."

"But what?" Harry asked puzzled.

Ron sighed. "I don't know mate," he said unsure. "All this stuff that's happened with the war, and the fighting, and, and-" he started groping at air, unable to find the right word. Or at least that's what it looked like. But Ron knew the exact word he was looking for. He just wasn't able to say it. Not yet, at least. It struck Harry that he was referring to Fred.

Before Ron could get the chance to feel stumped, Harry tried to assure him. "I know," he said.

The redhead visibly relaxed, and threw a grateful look in his best mate's direction. "Yeah, well, what I'm trying to say is," he briefly stopped to recollect his thoughts. "I mean, you know how Mum's got Dad in this... and George's got Percy- I mean, they've got each other... and Charlie, he seems alright, I mean, better than Mum or George, I think. Bill's got Fleur, I guess. And I, uh..." Ron's ears turned a violent shade of red. "I've got Hermione," he said in a tiny, slightly squeaky voice.

Harry ignored his best mate's bashfulness and thought about where all this was going. "You're worried for Ginny," he said.

Truth be told, Ron was not the only one worried for Ginny. Harry could only imagine how hard it must have been for her to fully comprehend the entire situation. Not to mention that the twins were probably her favorite brothers, or so it seemed to him. They were always very supportive of whatever she was doing, even when other members of her family were not. To lose one of them must have been devastating for her. Not to mention her mother. Or even worse, George, who must have felt so grief-stricken at the moment.

Ron had pulled himself together. He was pacing around the room (and over the random objects strewn across the floor), apparently restless. "Yeah," he confirmed. "I mean, I've tried talking to her, but she'd just brush me off or tell me she's busy. I remember one time I actually got her to sit down and have a little chat, and she just said a thing or two and then went off in her own little world." He sighed. "Not even _Hermione_ got through," he finished miserably. "I'm worried for her..."

"I'll talk to her," Harry said hastily before he could bite his tongue off. He noticed Ron eyeing him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye and winced mentally. Setting off bombs that early wasn't the greatest idea. "I mean, really talk to her. No, see, what I meant was-"

"I get it mate, hold your Thestralls," his best friend assured him. "Blimey, Harry I'm not her older brother just to intimina- I mean, intinima-" he stuttered.

"Intimidate?" Harry offered amused.

"Shut up," Ron grumbled. "And besides, you're my best mate. I trust you," he said.

To Ron, this statement might not have been important, but to Harry - to know that his best mate was so trusting when it came to his sister and him... He honestly was not expecting that from Ron, or at least not this early on. Not to mention how caring he was for Ginny. In the past, they almost never got along, and were always bickering, but it seemed like now, Ron was becoming a responsible big brother.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said.

"Don't mention it, mate." The redhead got up and sighed. "Look, I have a couple of things to do now, but last I saw her, Ginny was down in the Hall. Maybe she's still there. Just, please go down and eat something, or else Hermione will skin us both," he chuckled. That was when Harry remembered something.

"Ron, where did you say Hermione was headed to sleep, exactly?"

"Uh," the redhead started, bemused, "the girls' dormitories."

Harry frowned. "But those are demolished," he said. "When I came back in the common room last night, I heard a couple of girls complaining about having nowhere to sleep. Ron, you should get Hermione - and the other girls, for that matter - and tell them that the boys' dorms have spare beds. It's not like anyone's using them anyway."

Ron seemed to mentally chew the idea inside his head. "Yeah, sure," he said. A few seconds later, the redhead was already gone. Harry took this as a cue to head downstairs and get something to eat. He couldn't wait to get out of his battered clothes, but also dreaded getting out of bed, or moving at all, for that matter.

Whilst disentangling himself from under the covers, he felt something beside him on the mattress. Harry groped around until he felt something soft brush his fingers. He looked down and was met with a startling sight.

A single phoenix feather lay in the covers.

* * *

The trip to the Great Hall - though relatively uneventful - was quite depressing for Harry.

While going down the stairs and assessing all the damage that had been done recently, Harry had been hit with a wave of nostalgia. All the familiar places - or, at least, most of them - were in ruins. The class where he'd had Transfiguration, for example, had a huge chunk of wall missing along with its door. Later he'd suspected he found it, though a flight of stairs lower, and in the form of smashed pieces of plank.

Another such 'victim' was a suit of armor near the entrance to the Hall, which had its helmet and other several limbs missing. He winced once he'd spotted the helmet, which (sadly), was dented into the brick wall behind the rest of its counterparts.

On his way, he also stumbled upon persons who were helping rebuild the castle. Be it sweeping, transfiguring rubble, moving objects out of the way - anything anyone could do to help. A couple of them waved at him, others looked downward with a shattered expression across their faces, and some smiled at him, trying to say _'we're getting out of this one'_.

What really shook Harry was the meal he'd had. Or rather, the company he had while eating.

In all honesty, he really loved the Weasleys. They had been to him as close a family as they could get - without actually being related. They'd sheltered him, fed him, and never, not even once, did they ask for anything in return. Not only that, but they also made him the person he was today. Harry had always been immensely grateful for their acceptance. They made him feel like he was part of a real family, and he'd come to love them - some more than others, true.

So naturally, when he'd seen Mrs. Weasley, his heart broke.

She was seated at - what once was - the Gryffindor table in the far end of the Great Hall. While walking towards the table he noticed other people nodding in greeting at him. He saw Luna Lovegood talking animatedly to one of the first years, probably trying to cheer him up. His arm was in a sling. He'd also noticed Neville at the Ravenclaw table, whose face was littered with band-aids. He smiled encouragingly at Harry, revealing a missing tooth.

Harry took a seat across Mrs. Weasley at the table. The plate that was in front of him had magically filled with food. He ignored it, and settled for observing the woman before him.

Her eyes were bloodshot and the bags under them were the size of a plate. The joy her eyes held was no longer there, and Harry knew it would be a while until it returned, if ever. It seemed that in the span of less than 24 hours, she aged tremendously. Molly Weasley was beyond recognition. The loss of one of her sons shattered her very being.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry greeted weakly. He was met with a sniffle. She hadn't noticed his presence, it seemed.

After a moment of contemplation, and grief at seeing the woman that was a mother figure to him, Harry started eating. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Percy at the other end of the table. He looked dreadful, but still better than Mrs. Weasley. Harry could only imagine how devastated George must have been.

A choked sob drew back his attention. Mrs Weasley's shoulders shook as she cried miserably.

Harry felt a huge lump form in his throat. "Mrs. Weasley-"

"Goodness, my son," she wailed sorrowfully. Not a moment later, Mr. Weasley was at her side, embracing her.

"There, Molly," he tried soothing her. She kept muttering "Fred, poor, dear Fred...", through heart-wrenched sobs while Mr. Weasley ran his hand up and down her back to comfort her.

He didn't look quite well himself, Harry noted. Aside from the fact that he seemed older by ten years at least, for once, Arthur Weasley looked truly disheveled. His robes were wrinkled and battered, his hair unkept, and his face was covered with an overgrown stubble.

Mr. Weasley looked at Harry with an apologetic look. He tried smiling, but just ended up twitching his mouth. It seemed he didn't have it in him.

Harry was left staring at his plate. Mrs. Weasley's sobs continued echoing across the hall. Percy was nowhere in sight.

* * *

Upon reaching the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Harry was met with profuse thanks and lavishing praise from the Fat Lady and the neighboring portraits. After several _'You're welcome'_s and _'It was nothing'_s, he practically begged her to open the door.

"Oh, dearie! Why didn't you say so from the beginning?"

Harry closed the door behind him, effectively shutting the Fat Lady's giggles. He took a moment to study the common room.

Aside from the piles of rubble tucked in the corners and the chunks of stone blocking the entrance to the girls' dorms, the Gryffindor lounging area was still the same. To his left was a small table with several chairs tucked around it. On the other side of the room there was a hearth, where fire crackled merrily. Directly in front of it was a couch, and perched in one corner sat Ginny. Harry did a double-take.

_Ginny._

There she was, perched on the old couch, with her knees brought up to her chin, staring at the fire. Her uniform was battered and had cuts in a couple of places; her ankle was bandaged - probably sprained, Harry thought, and her left cheek was smudged with dirt.

Despite her unkept state, Harry still couldn't help but think she was beautiful. All he wanted to do was run to her and engulf her in a bone-crushing hug. He'd horribly missed her, and seeing her only made him more eager to jump into action. A small, rational part of his brain fruitlessly tried to remind him that he'd made a promise to Ron. He walked over to her, trying to keep his pace even.

She must have not noticed him entering because she was startled when he stopped in front of her. A few strands of fiery red hair flew in her face. Ginny stared open-mouthed up at him.

Harry shifted uneasily. "Hey," he said shyly.

The fact that he spoke brought her down to earth, or so Harry would have liked to think. He thought he saw her eyes widen for a split second; she closed her mouth and continued staring holes into him. After a few more seconds, she blankly said, "Harry."

Before he had the chance to question her, Ginny launched herself towards him - arms wide open - into a hug. She squeezed the life out of him and kept saying "Harry, thank goodness!", but it was muffled by his shirt. After getting over the shock, he hugged her back just as tightly, as if fearing that she'd vanish without a moment's notice.

After a couple of minutes (much too soon, in Harry's opinion), Ginny let go of his neck and settled her feet on the ground. She hissed in pain; the ankle must have hurt her. Harry thought he must have been watching her worriedly, because she hastily said, "It's just a sprain. Don't worry."

He let a frown set in his features. As much as he'd like to twirl, hug, and kiss Ginny, along with other things he could think of doing with her, Harry knew that it would have been only for show. She might look just fine now, but he knew those were just appearances; she must've been hurting greatly inside.

He settled his hands on her arms. "Ginny, we need to talk."

At first, she just stared at him incomprehensively, as if not fully grasping what he'd meant. Then, she'd launched herself and started telling him stuff he'd missed while he was gone. Harry gave her arms a firm squeeze. "Ginny, I meant _real_ talk. About you," he started, "about this whole thing. About-"

His throat went dry. She was looking at him with a pleading look, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. She knew who he was talking about. It almost made him bury the subject, but he cared too much about Ginny to let her suffer like that. Harry moistened his dry lips. "About Fred," he croaked.

The mention of her brother's name must have set her off. The tears welled up in her eyes, and, one after another, trailed down her freckled cheeks, down to her chin. She buried her face in his chest and cried silently. Harry could feel her tears dampening his shirt. He told himself Ginny needed that, to set loose all that pent-up emotion and stress.

Her legs gave out without notice, and Harry awkwardly dragged her back to the sofa and sat down along with her. She nestled her head in the crook of his neck and continued sniffling. He didn't know how to comfort a person in such a situation. He was new to this; and it made him feel helpless. One arm snaked around her figure and patted her hair. Harry kissed the crown of her head. "It's okay," he murmured.

After a while - Harry couldn't really tell how much they stood there like that - Ginny's sobbing became fainter and her breathing evened. She looked up at him, eyes puffy and cheeks pink from crying, and said hoarsely, "You were dead."

He wasn't expecting that. It had completely slipped his mind that people had thought he was dead when Hagrid brought him back from the woods. Of course, no one knew that, in fact, he didn't play dead, but was instead hit in the chest with the Killing Curse, had a conversation with his mentor's spirit, been brought back from Limbo (or wherever he'd been) to defeat the most powerful Dark Wizard alive (currently dead), and only then played dead to lower his enemies' guards and successfully finish his quest.

Now that he'd thought about it like that, it did seem pretty crazy. As did all the other things he'd done in his life.

"Right..." he said. "About that. Well, let's say there's more to it than that. But I'll tell you another time." Ginny glared at him. "Promise!" he added defensively.

She studied him intensely. Harry suddenly felt self-conscious. That's how Ginny made him feel whenever she'd look at him with those brown, chocolate eyes, piercing through him like a needle. As if she could see through him even if a huge, brick wall blocked her vision. But Harry accepted that. Especially now, when she was so vulnerable, so fragile, that he feared she would shatter at any moment.

"You really need a shower," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked down at her lips for a brief second before returning his gaze back to her eyes. "Funny you should say that," he whispered, gesturing to her battered clothes. He wouldn't deny the fact that he liked their little silent exchange. Talking in whispers with Ginny made him relax. He no longer felt his aching muscles, the faint throb in his chest where the Avada Kedavra hit him, the fierce exhaustion he'd felt that morning when he woke up - all forgotten.

"Ron is watching us," she informed.

Harry turned his head towards the direction Ginny was pointing at - in this case, the entrance to the boys' dormitories. At the foot of the stairs, a somewhat irritated Ron was leaning in the doorway. Harry lazily waved his hand at him. Ginny was suppressing a smile. The tall redhead beckoned his best mate in a 'move-it-or-else' gesture. Harry sighed. He reluctantly disentangled himself from the warm and comfortable hug he'd enjoyed with Ginny and got up.

"Later," Ginny said.

Harry nodded. He sauntered over to the older Weasley, not really caring that he was receiving an exasperated look. "What's up, mate?"

Ron made a sour face. "Do you always make those goo-goo eyes whenever you're with my sister?"

"What 'goo-goo eyes'?" Harry asked.

The redhead shrugged. "You know... like you were high on Love Potion." He tried mimicking Harry's expression.

"I don't look like that!"

"Yeah you do," he teased. Harry grumbled curses under his breath.

The two headed upstairs towards their old room. Upon opening the door, they were met with the sight of their other best friend folding clothes on - what used to be - Ron's bed. Hermione looked up at them and, upon seeing Harry, smiled brightly and ran to hug him.

"Easy Hermione," he chuckled. Even Ron seemed amused. "I'm not going to spontaneously combust. Promise."

She let go of him and proceeded in studying him from head to toe. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked uncertainly. "I mean, with everything that's happened, you don't fee-"

"Hermione, I'm fine," Harry promised. The bushy-haired witch always worried for them, regardless of the situation.

"Yeah, the bloke's fine, Hermione. Give 'im some space," Ron chimed in.

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine. But you two are in desperate need of a shower. Look at yourselves- you're filthy!"

"Not the first one to remind me that..." muttered Harry. The witch huffed and went back to folding her clothes on the bed. She muttered something that distinctly sounded like, "_Boys_". It was then that Harry noticed something that made him smirk. "Nice jumper," he complimented nonchalantly.

Hermione was wearing what Harry liked to call 'The Weasley Sweater'. Each year for Christmas, Mrs. Weasley would knit a sweater with the initial of their names on them. Everyone would receive one, even him and Hermione. The one that she wore though, had a big 'R' etched on the front, and was much too large for her stature.

Ron spluttered incomprehensively. Harry saw him blush furiously out of the corner of his eye.

Hermione's cheeks turned a rosy shade. "Yes, well... I didn't have a spare change of clothes and since Ginny's don't exactly fit me, Ron was kind enough to lend me his sweater."

"A fine gentleman, that Ron," Harry muttered loud enough only for the redhead to hear. He earned a punch in the arm, which only served to widen his grin.

"Right..." Hermione was looking at them funnily. She took the neatly folded clothes and went for the door. The two boys blocking it parted to clear the path. "I'm going to look for Ginny. But before I go, Harry did you eat anything?" she glared at him.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I did. Ron wouldn't stop bugging me."

She smiled brightly. "Really?" The redhead to her right turned a shade darker than the color of his hair. Hermione spun around and pecked Ron on the cheek.

"Thanks," she said, blushing slightly.

Ron replied with something really witty like, "Um, guh dun."

Hermione swiftly made her exit, leaving her friends in a pregnant silence. Ron looked like he was drunk, staring dazedly at a wall.

"_Goo-goo eyes_," Harry teased, poking his best mate's shoulder.

"Oh, shut up!"

* * *

"Ron, can I borrow your razor?" Harry called over the running water.

"Sure, mate. Just let me finish with it first," the redhead answered back.

The two were currently in the boys' bathroom, religiously keeping their promise to Hermione, for fear of her threatening to hex them. Ron had finished his shower first, and was attempting to shave off his fuzz. Harry only hoped the redhead wouldn't accidentally cut his cheek or lip. Since the enchanted razor he'd gotten from Bill and Fleur on his seventeenth birthday was back at the Burrow, he'd had to make do with a regular one.

Meanwhile, he was gently cleaning his wounds; they burned at the merest of touches. He felt like scratching the scar on his chest, but knew that it would only make it worse. He sprayed cold water on it from time to time, though.

Otherwise, the bathroom was relatively silent. The only sounds heard were Ron's shaving (accompanied by his occasional swearing), and the running water of the showers.

After finishing cleaning his last cut - a little one on the back of his left shoulder - Harry heard Ron say, "Oi, I'm leaving the razor on the sink, you hear me?"

"Finished already?"

"Yeah. It's not so hard, once you get the gist of it. I'm going down to see how Mum's doing..."

"Thanks, Ron."

Harry heard the door closing after he'd shut off the water. While drying himself off with the towel, he realized that the neighboring stall was also occupied, due to the sound of running water.

He'd swiftly changed into the pants Kreacher had left on his nightstand and got out of the shower stall. After slinging the towel around his shoulders to cover the scar on his chest, he headed towards the sink where Ron left his razor.

Harry eyed his reflection in the mirror. His hair was longer and unkempt, in a messier state than usual. The scar on his clavicle left behind by the locket was more prominent now; its newer and larger companion peeked out from under the towel. He was also scrawnier than usual. Harry didn't need his glasses to realize he looked dreadful. All that running, and stress, and fighting took its toll on him. Not to mention all the loss and suffering.

He set about his business, lathering his hands with the shaving foam and spreading it on his cheeks.

Ron had been right; after a couple of swipes, Harry had gotten the hang of it. He'd thought shaving would have been harder than that, but it seemed he was wrong. So far, neither his cheeks nor his lips had suffered any injuries.

He was so immersed in thought that he didn't hear the water from the other stall stop running, nor later on, when a door behind him creaked open.

"Shaving already?"

The voice startled Harry so bad, that his hand slipped. A slim cut ran along his cheek, little beads of blood forming along its length. He cursed. Behind him, Ginny unsuccessfully tried not to giggle. He attempted to glare at her, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching upwards. She slowly approached him.

"Sorry," the redhead said. "Didn't mean to startle you. Here," she grabbed a corner of his towel and dabbed at the fresh cut. Then she'd noticed the scar on his chest. "Gods, Harry!" she gasped.

Ginny eyed the scar fearfully. Her brows were furrowed in worry. At first, Harry thought she found it repulsive, but she started gently tracing its outline. "Where did you get this?" Her voice shook.

"Forbidden Forest," he tried to sound casual. The redhead wasn't buying it. She gave him a long, hard stare, and asked, "How?"

His mouth went dry. Harry had just now realized how close she had gotten. He could see her clearly now without the need of his glasses; the curve of her jaw, all the freckles dotting her rosy cheeks, the colorful intensity of her eyes, and her wet, long hair and its beautiful, fiery color, and the slight crease in her brows, her petite but strong form, her luscious parted lips... everything. The mere sight of her was making Harry feel slightly tipsy, as if he'd drunk too much of her. It was both exciting and unsettling - he was, after all, sailing in dangerous waters.

"How?" she asked again, a little louder, to get his attention.

Harry moistened his lips. "Killing Curse," he whispered. He'd gotten a whiff of her flowery scent.

Ginny looked like she was about to cry. She took a steadying breath instead, and touched the middle of the scar. "Does it hurt?" she whispered.

He grunted in response. "Used to," Harry uttered softly. He took her hand in his and laced their fingers. "Now it just burns," he said.

"Your hair's longer," she whispered whilst mussing his messy tresses. He closed his eyes and grunted in approval.

Somewhere along the way his hands had settled on her waist. It was like their sixth year all over again. That same naive carelessness he'd thought would last forever was caressing him again.

He felt a small smile tug at his lips. "Yours is longer too," he retorted.

She hummed mirthfully. "Mine looks better," she taunted.

Ginny's hands were on his shoulders now. Their foreheads were touching. Harry could practically feel her breath dancing across his features.

"It does," he breathed. It was hard for him to think clearly with her up close and personal.

"Well, aren't you a charmer," she whispered, and kissed him, and it was slow and passionate, like a blessing; it felt like rain in the hot desert, and Harry didn't want it to stop. His mind could only think of Ginny, and everything that was her, and the next moment it would be devoid of any thought and just let him immerse in the feelings he'd get from their kiss.

They parted for air. Harry was on cloud nine, and it was probably showing on his face. It was like Ginny had breathed life back into him. He felt exhilarated.

Ginny was slightly out of breath. Her cheeks were a darker shade of red, and Harry found himself trying to memorize all the freckles dusted across them.

Suddenly everything around them came into focus. It was as if Harry didn't need his glasses anymore: the colors were brighter, and his vision became sharper. He knew that this was just an after-effect of his and Ginny's kiss; that sizzling sensation he felt, as if he were drunk. As he was thinking that, the feeling already began to fade.

He looked down at Ginny; she smiled sweetly at him and pecked him on the lips. Taking advantage of his dazed state, she slipped out of his embrace, and, faster than Harry could react, marched to the door. He looked incomprehensively between where she currently was, and the empty spot she'd left. Ginny only smirked and said, "See you downstairs," drawling out the last word; she didn't even wait for Harry to respond and quickly shut the door behind her.

Complete and utter silence surrounded Harry. He chuckled. "Goo-goo eyes."

_In his pocket, the phoenix feather felt somewhat heavier._

* * *

**_A/N:_** So, there we go. End of chapter 2. If you liked it, throw me a bone! Let me know so I don't waste hours in front of the PC for nothing ;)_  
_

_**Major inspirations for this chapter were:**_

_Florence+The Machine_'s Cosmic Love;

_MS MR_'s Bones;

_Strays Don't Sleep_'s For Blue Skies;

_Personal experience._


End file.
